One of the worst, most painful and torturous experiences that you can have is to know that a loved one is in pain but you can’t do anything about it. The realization of impotence, that there could be some key which unlocks joy from the prison of suffering and knowing that you do not have that key, is misery incarnate, futility manifest.
Bill Rogokos took his life. Corey called yesterday to tell me and I could hear his pain, I could feel it, because his suffering, his wish that he could have done something to stop Bill’s final choice, became my suffering at hearing the pain in Corey’s voice and unable to do anything save to listen five hundred miles away. This pain multiplies, expands, with the realization that so many of the people I know and love are suffering at loosing Bill; his sister Michelle, Corey, Jared, Paul, Erica, Nolan, Josh, we all grew up in the same neighborhood. I understand the desire to kill ones’ self, to end the suffering of life, but in doing so it creates so much more suffering that the balance is not reset; one weight is lifted but many more are added in the process, weights that can never be removed.
I remember in high school, sitting in Corey and Jared’s house reading the entirety of the Steven King’s Langoliers to Bill and the others. How many other fifteen or sixteen year olds would sit there listening to one of their piers read them a story for six hours? How many houses did we toilet paper together? We were never the closest of friends, but we were friends. I respected him. As time and distance separated us and news of him reached me second hand, it was always good news, news that he was a good man. My condolences to his family. To Bill! I raise my glass to him and to all who miss him.